


Do I Wanna Know?

by littlebunnyisgettingfatonhoney



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, M/M, Student Sherlock, Student!Sherlock, Teacher John, Teacher John Watson, Teacher!John, Teacher!John Watson, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-11 08:55:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5620936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebunnyisgettingfatonhoney/pseuds/littlebunnyisgettingfatonhoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*INCOMPLETE, CHAPTER III AND IV TO COME*</p><p>Teacher John/Student Sherlock story loosely based off Watsonsdick's FANTASTIC video </p><p>(http://watsonsdick.tumblr.com/post/63219789888/the-teacherstudent-au-is-finished-and-all-but-i)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was the first day of Sherlock’s senior year of high school and he was finally getting near to leaving the God forsaken high school and leaving all the idiots who taunted him and finally, finally nearing the beginning of his own adult life. But one last year of dreadfulness and he would be free to go to a university and live his own life. 

His first period was humanities with Mr. Watson. The first day of school and he was already jumping into lesson reviews and trivia, for God’s sake!  
“Well, hello everyone. I'm Mr. Watson. Who thinks they know what topics we’ll be focusing on this year in humanities?” The teacher good naturally asked the students. No one spoke. They all merely stared at him, already bored out of their minds. Sure, he was probably a nice bloke and all– perhaps even a good teacher– but after their long holiday, who wanted to be in a stuffy classroom?  
“Well, writing of course,” he laughed in spite of his little joke. Sherlock would absolutely perish if class would be like this for the rest of the year.  
“We’ll tie in a bit with the history class and focus a lot on writing thesis statements on topics such as classical art, medieval art, Renaissance art, the Middle Ages, and maybe even dip into the rise and fall of feudalism–”  
“Boring!” Quipped Sherlock from the back of the class. In an instant, the entire class whipped their heads back to see who had the bollocks to interrupt class in such an immature way.  
“Mr. Holmes?” Mr. Watson asked, making his way to the back of the class where Sherlock was seated, looking as nonchalant as he could muster.  
“Have anything to share?”  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. “God, no.”  
“You know what? I’m not going to put up with that type of insubordinate attitude on the first day of school. I'm all for jokes and good fun, but not in ways like that. Get it together or you can speak to the headmaster.”  
“Okay.”  
“Okay what?” Mr. Watson spat with a crinkled nose.  
“Okay, send me to the headmaster.”  
“That's enough. See me after class. You’re not wasting anymore time of the students in this class that come here to learn.” Mr. Watson shook his head and continued with the class. 

Eventually the 45 minute class had finally ended and although Sherlock hated to admit it, he hadn't minded listening to Mr. Watson’s voice. It was… Sweet, if you will. As the bell rang, the students leapt out of their seats, grabbing their books and dodging out the door. Except for Sherlock. He was stuck in the class, probably about to be lectured for no good reason at all. Wait till Mycroft heard about this. Sherlock wouldn't tell him of course, but he always seemed to know what Sherlock was up to. Mr. Watson stood at the front of the classroom with his arms folded in front of him, waiting for the last students to leave the room. When it was just him and Sherlock, he unfolded his arms and beckoned to Sherlock.  
“Sherlock, come up here.”  
Sherlock sighed, picked up his textbooks and stood in front of his teacher. He didn’t say anything. Sherlock waited for him to say something. Mr. Watson waited for him to say something. Eventually, Mr. Watson shifted his weight and spoke.  
“Well? What was that all about?”  
“What on earth do you mean?” Sherlock hissed with a curled lip. He was becoming more and more irritable.  
“Is everything okay?” Mr. Watson pursed his lips as Sherlock gave a fake close lipped smile and a shrug. God, this child was insufferable.  
“May I please leave now?” Sherlock asked.  
Mr. Watson stared at the student with his hands on his hips. He acted like he was a freshman rather than a senior approaching uni in less than a year.  
“See you in class tomorrow. You better study hard. I’m giving a pop quiz to see what you all already know.”  
“If it’s a pop quiz, why are you telling me?”  
Mr. Watson attempted to hide a smile.  
“Nevermind that. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m expecting better behavior.”  
Sherlock was a little shocked. He betrayed himself and gave his teacher a smile back.  
“Um, yes. Thank you… Mr. Watson. I’ll… Study, yeah.” No, he wouldn’t. But he wanted Mr. Watson’s approval, for some reason.  
“Thank you, Sherlock. Now go to your class before you get marked tardy.”  
Sherlock had found someone he knew he must stay away from but he simply couldn’t. He felt a creeping sensation of infatuation with this stranger and, Christ, it was wrong!– yet he found himself not caring. 

 

The day went by, increasingly boring with each period. The only one he found himself participating and enjoying was chemistry with Mr. Meretz. The only problem was while he was sitting in the back of the classroom, listening to the drone of the teacher’s voice, he couldn’t keep Mr. Watson out of his head. It was awful. For some reason, Sherlock found himself utterly smitten by the teacher. What about him was addicting? What, goddammit?! He felt himself wanting to find out.

Sherlock showed up early for school the next day. He looked utterly hopeless, standing outside the classroom two minutes before anyone had even entered in the school but he was eager to see Mr. Watson again. He clenched his books nervously and opened the classroom’s door to see Mr. Watson sitting at his desk, shuffling worksheets.  
“Good morning.” Sherlock greeted with a wide smile, real this time.  
“Early today?” Mr. Watson asked while picking up his briefcase.  
“Yeah, I suppose. Where are you going?”  
“I need to xerox some more worksheets. I’ll see you in class.” Mr. Watson said with a nod. He felt himself starting to like Sherlock more and more. Which was b-a-d. He wouldn’t allow himself. Absolutely not. Their relationship needed to be professional. Distant, even. Sherlock nodded a light smile and let it fall as Mr. Watson walked out the door. 

Just as Mr. Watson had promised, they had a pop quiz in class, to which the class began to moan. Mr. Watson and Sherlock’s eyes met and they both smiled to themselves. Sherlock, although he didn’t bother himself with studying, still managed to get an A. When the day had ended and everyone was either boarding their bus home or driving their cars, Mr. Watson had saw Sherlock in his own car. He walked up to the car and watched Sherlock roll the window down.  
“Hi, Sherlock. I just wanted to tell you, you know, great job on the quiz. I assume you really hit the books.” He said with a light chuckle.  
“Oh!” Sherlock laughed nervously. Mr. Watson was pretty bloody close to Sherlock’s face. And he didn't mind. Not one bit. “Yeah, I studied a bit. Thanks.”  
“Excellent job today in class, as well. You’re proving to be a good pupil.” Mr. Watson said kindly as he stuck out his hand for a shake. Sherlock reluctantly grabbed it and felt a crinkle of paper meet his palm. Oh, bloody hell. This couldn't, this honestly could not be Mr. Watson’s phone number. Sherlock peeked into his hand and quickly caught a glance at a phone number hastily written in blue ink. The teacher walked away as if nothing at all had just happened. Sherlock smiled to himself the entire time he drove home, thinking of what he would say when he called.

Sherlock arrived home, greeted Mummy and Mycroft in a hurry and climbed upstairs to his bedroom. He threw the backpack into the corner of the room and dug the number out of his pocket. God. This meant that Mr. Watson had mutual feelings? Bloody hell, Sherlock felt lightheaded. He finished his assignments with haste and went downstairs in the kitchen to look for the landline phone. He made sure no one was around, and given his luck, no one was. He carefully punched in the numbers and smirked as it rung a few times. 

“Hello?” Mr. Watson answered.  
“Good evening. It’s me. Sherlock.” He was smiling too hard. You could hear the smile in his voice, dammit.  
“Oh, hello. How are you doing, then?” Mr. Watson ran a hand through his hair and sat on the couch of his living room. He liked Sherlock too bloody much. Given a student his personal phone number! Completely moronic of him!  
“I’m… I’m feeling really good. Thanks for giving me your number, you know.” Sherlock fawned.  
“Listen, Sherlock. I… I got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Sherlock.” Mr. Watson reluctantly said. This was so wrong. He had fucked up. He had led this kid on. He wasn’t that young, thank goodness. But still. He wouldn’t; he simply couldn’t!  
“Oh, okay. Goodnight, Mr. Watson.” Sherlock tried to hide the fact he was disappointed.  
Mr. Watson placed the phone back into the charger and rubbed his temple. Meeting Sherlock Holmes had already turned the tables of this school year. 

Sherlock came to school upset. Mr. Watson had barely spoken to him on the phone, after he himself had made the first move! It was annoying. During class, Sherlock did not participate. He was pissed off at Mr. Watson’s behavior. Did he actually like Sherlock? If so, why was he being distant and… And, well, irritating! He did not even answer the elementary-like questions such as, what was the Age of Enlightenment. After five wrong or “almost there…” answers, Sherlock sincerely wanted to respond with the correct one.  
“Hmm, how about… Sherlock? Do you know the correct answer?” Mr. Watson said with a smirk, leaning against his own desk. Sherlock mumbled something incoherently but sounded something like ‘Oh, so now you want to speak to me?’  
“Pardon, what was that, Mr. Holmes?”  
Sherlock sighed and bore his deadpan eyes right into his teacher’s.  
“I said,” he said loudly, easily drawing attention from his classmates, “a time during the Renaissance where the use of reason and philosophy was popularized and blindly following of religion was becoming less and less common. Making themselves more enlightened. Hence the name of the movement.”  
Mr. Watson smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “Spot on, Sherlock! Nice job. I hope you all heard that, since so many wrong answers is a bit disappointing.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and ignored everyone for the rest of the period.


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is feeling sexually frustrated and almost desperate. Has this been the worst mistake he's made?
> 
> *this chapter is rather NSFW!*

Months had passed and while Sherlock had not exactly avoided Mr. Watson, he was reluctant to become a favorite of the teacher. He had embarrassed him, for God’s sake! Sherlock embarrassed others, NOT the other way around. Sherlock had partially gotten over it but craved Mr. Watson the entire year. Anytime anyone mentioned his name, Sherlock’s ears always perked up and he attempted to hear into the conversation. Anytime anyone spoke badly of the teacher, Sherlock always got his feathers ruffled and attempted to humiliate the student complaining. It received Sherlock many bruises and sores but he brushed it off as nonchalantly as he could. Yes, love was an inconvenience. 

As the end of the year approached, Sherlock was feeling comfortable with his academic stance and had even gotten into the University of Oxford, much to the delight of his parents. To take his mind off of school and reward himself a bit, he decided to visit a nightclub Friday night. While it wasn’t his usual go-to for a good time, he hated to admit how sexually frustrated he felt. Sherlock was still a virgin, unlike many of his peers and his frequent masturbation before bed was becoming increasingly tedious. Yes, a night at a club would clear his mind and a pleasurable one night stand would ease his libido. He would find an attractive bloke his age, have a nice fuck and continue focus on his academics again. Sherlock grinned at the ground wickedly as he fingered a condom in his pocket.

The brunette shyly entered the most popular nightclub that most of the young students attended. Indeed, it was filled with alluring blokes his own age. While Sherlock was a virgin, he truly did know how to play his cards right. He could be a sex symbol, for Christ’s sake! Chiseled face that seemed almost marble, admirable physique after years of ballet and boxing, and clear eyes that expressed every emotion. Sherlock was no fool and knew of his beauty and intended to take advantage of it. He browsed the crowds and tried to make eye contact with any appealing guys. Sherlock absentmindedly shouted over the loud music to order his drink and zoned out as the colorful lights casted shapes over his face. As the bartender slid Sherlock’s drink over, Sherlock nearly stumbled over his own oxford clad feet while he gasped for breath.   
“Mate, you okay?” The bartender said in a concerned fashion as he peered over the ledge of the counter to see Sherlock in the most unstable manner he had ever seen anyone.   
“Y‒ Yes. It’s nothing, I’m fine.” Sherlock stuttered as he carefully reached for his drink and made his way to the very booth Mr. Watson was seated at; Mr. Watson! He was sitting alone, which caused a nervous bubble of laughter to erupt in Sherlock’s throat. What did he do?! Sherlock felt a light sheen of sweat on his forehead as he toyed with the cold drink in his hands, wiping the cold moisture from the cup onto his flushed face. He quietly stood in the corner nearest to his teacher, racking his mind for ways he could casually approach Mr. Watson. Mid thought, a very familiar, comforting voice interrupted his thoughts.   
“Sherlock?” Mr. Watson laughed in a pleased way. “Come take a seat?”  
“Managing to sound like a teacher even at a nightclub?” Sherlock quickly retorted with a grin, getting over his initial shock as he slid into the booth.   
“Ah, that’s the first none-hostile thing you’ve said to me all year!” Mr. Watson smiled good naturally. Sherlock rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.  
“Mr. Watson,”   
“Call me John, we’re not in school.” He interrupted.   
“J‒ John? John,” Sherlock chewed on the word delightfully, a wide grinning unintentionally splitting his face, “You deserved it.”  
John bit his lip, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I was… I mean, I was scared, you know?”   
Sherlock nodded, not being one to truly hold grudges. “It’s okay.” He said as he dug his hand in his pocket and toyed with the condom. Almost instantly, his boner became even more erect and Sherlock flushed red.   
“What's wrong, Sherlock?” John smiled.  
“Ah… Nothing.” He smiled bashfully.   
“Anything interesting in your pocket?”   
Sherlock gasped involuntarily and focused his eyes downward.   
“Aw, c'mon, show me.” John pressed on with a curious grin.   
Sherlock felt his entire body go hot as he dug out the condom and smacked it onto the glittery table. Sherlock shook in anticipation and peered up at John, admiring the look of surprise on his face.   
“Is it… Suitable for use?” John said, staring at Sherlock with some sultry sort of look of lust. Sherlock swallowed hard.   
“Yes.” He responded as he felt John’s warm hand on his thigh, reaching from under the table. John crossed over to the same side Sherlock was sitting and slid his hand higher up, close to Sherlock’s abdomen.   
“When did you turn eighteen, Sherlock?” Breathed John.   
“January.” Sherlock said elatedly, pulling John closer to his own body and scooching further into the booth’s corner.   
“I hope I said happy birthday.” John muttered with a smile as he burrowed his face into Sherlock’s neck, inhaling. A small noise escaped Sherlock’s mouth as he almost crumbled into a heap of desire right underneath John.   
“You… Don’t know how long…” Sherlock gasped as he locked lips with John and cradled his face in between his hands, their lips hungrily wanting each other. “I waited for this…”   
John panted, sliding his hands up and down Sherlock’s back, feeling the warm friction under his palms.   
“I know, I know, I know.” John slurred between messy kisses, “I'm so sorry, love, I'm sorry.” Sherlock nodded in understanding as he thrust John’s pelvis forward, grinding it against his.   
“John, please, I need you. Let's go somewhere, anywhere. I need you.” Sherlock pleaded desperately as he roughly kissed John, peeking his tongue in and gasping in pleasure. John kissed him back and rose to his feet, holding hands with Sherlock.   
“My home?” Sherlock suggested while panting.  
“Will we be alone?”  
“Of course,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Parents are visiting Scotland and Mycroft is off at UNI.”  
John merely laughed and squeezed Sherlock’s hand a little tighter.

The night was so utterly calm to Sherlock. He has lost his virginity to John and he felt good about himself and the situation. John was lying in his bed beside him, snoring slightly only an after after they had made love. Sherlock sat in bed, gingerly pressing his fingers to his bottom lip and smiling. He drifted off to sleep next to John.

When Sherlock awoke at precisely 9:37, the smile that he had gone to sleep with disappeared and was replaced with an ashamed, humiliated and uncomprehending look of despair on his face. John had left.


End file.
